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When Ylaine had agreed to attend regular classes at the liberty center, she had forgotten one thing: the regular children. They laughed and played and acted like hoodlums and brats and Ylaine had very quickly gotten the reputation of "tattletale" because the minute someone tried a prank, Ylaine reported it, not having patience for such games. As a result, the kids left Ylaine mostly alone, which was a good thing. Ylaine wanted nothing to do with these juveniles. She sat through her classes and turned in her assignments and did not, if she could possibly avoid it, speak up. Quiet and aloof, ignoring the other children's invitations, she watched.

To a social psychologist this would doubtless have been an interesting look into the behaviors and interactions of juveniles, but to Ylaine it was just what filled her day and she observed the classroom antics with hooded eyes, mentally running through lists of facts and data in her head.

When the redheaded girl named Jacoba (Jace for short) entered the classroom, everyone else already knew her. Apparently, she had been gone on some sort of a break. Ylaine could not be bothered to work out the where and why of the other girl's abscence. She had no interest in Jace's personal life. What did interest her was the other girl's legs.

Silvery, metallic rods and joints and cables on display for all the world to see. Ylaine observed carefully the movement of the metal pieces, performing mechanically where flesh and blood should have been, gliding and sliding like the machines of a factory. It was a fairly obvious deformity when it did not have to be. Ylaine brushed the hair of her brown wig behind her ear and wondered why the girl did not simply put pants on. She scrutinized the legs' construction and tried to decide if they were abhorrent. An eyesore, maybe. When class was over Ylaine gathered up her things and headed out into the hallway, alone and aloof as ever, every intention of continuing to pretend she did not in fact occupy the same timespace as her classmates.

Ylaine did not react except to stop up short to avoid hitting this sudden obstacle. "Excuse me," she said, firmly and not at all politely, the words indignant through clenched teeth. She waited a moment for the desired response to her words, but she might as well have been shouting at a windmill.

The implication was completely lost on Ylaine, who said merely, "I do not possess a camera, and if I did, I would certainly have better things to take a photograph of than..." She tilted her head to the side, looking for the proper disdainful terminology. "Those things." She gave a little shudder of disapproval.

"I would not ascribe to them that level of emotional effect," said Ylaine, maintaining a dispassionate tone. She was too tough a cookie to crumble at Jace's barbs. "I fail to see why metal objects should be 'creepy.'" She shrugged nonchalantly and moved as if to walk around Jace.

Poor Ylaine was so beyond verbal taunting that she remained undaunted by the commands being given to her and blissfully unaware of the definition of "swirlie." She replied, in typical straightforwardness, "My hands are full, as you can presently see, and I have to go to my next course, as I am sure you do, also." She had no interest in putting her books down and wasting time with such foolishness. Bad enough she had already lost a minute.

Ylaine's mouth drew into an O of sheer indignation and she gasped at the older girl's audacity. This was a perfect example of yet another reason why Ylaine did not need to attend school. "Return my books," she demanded, not scared of Jace even in the slightest (though if she'd had any sense she would have been).

Ylaine had really had quite enough. "Take my books if you want, I don't need them," she informed Jace, crossing her arms. She had objected to being asked to carry them in the first place, but when Reginald had pointed out it would make her stand out less to her classmates, she had agreed to it. Her course load was thankfully light enough that she could manage the books given her with only a bit of trouble. "I don't even want them. But move aside, or I shall lodge a complaint with the administration at this treatment."

"The circumference of my head far prevents that scenario," said Ylaine, drawling out the word scenario in an almost British accent. (Too much time around Sam. And Reginald. And even Harry.) "The average toilet drain has a circumference of only ten inches, and the average plumbing pipe in this building excluding the mains has a circumference of six-point-three-five inches. That would not accommodate even the average human hand. Your premise is flawed." The last word was spoken as a damning pronouncement of Jace's reasoning skills, which to Ylaine was a true insult.